


Communicative Avenues

by kelex



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4801850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelex/pseuds/kelex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal make use of the communicative avenues available to them during Hannibal's incarceration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communicative Avenues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Communicative Avenues gif set](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/144773) by bu0nanotte. 



> (inspired by this gifset by bu0nanotte. http://bu0nanotte.tumblr.com/post/129062793490 I used her description of the gif set as the summary. :D)

Will Graham had a very special, very quiet arrangement with Alana Bloom. If he provided her with a non-traceable telephone number ($29.95 at the local convenience store, pay as you go), she would enter it into the hospital's Confidential Database, which meant the phone calls made from that number to any inmate in the BSHCI system would not be monitored. Mostly they were lawyers, a few doctors for those suffering from serious medical ailments, and, in a few cases, law enforcement. It was under this last category that this non-traceable number was entered, and the only caveat she gave him was, _You do not use this, Will. Only when you absolutely have to. To solve a case. That's it._

Will found it funny, in the way he thought Hannibal would find it funny, that he had no problem whatever lying to her about it. _Of course not. I don't think I'll ever use it, but I need a way to contact him. Like a security blanket. I don't want him back in my head._

He really wished, sometimes, he did feel bad about it. Not often. Just… sometimes.

\-----

But when it came down to actually using it, there was no tentativeness in Will's mind. Maybe in his fingers, as he dialed the hospital's switchboard, and definitely in his voice, because he'd spent too much time there not to be recognized. But not in his mind, because he knew that what he was doing was right. 

If the operator recognized his voice, she didn't show any note, and because it showed as Confidential, she did not ask for his identity. Just, "Please hold," and then nothing. 

He knew the drill, or well, he could at least imagine it. First, the phone call had to be put on hold, and then picked up on the hospital's "portable" call system. Then it would have to be taken to Hannibal's cell, near the back of the facility, and the phone passed through the drawer. Then Hannibal would have to wait for the tech to leave the room before 

"Hello, Will."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else would it be? They did not say it was my lawyer, and no one else would call." He didn't say anything else, and Will could imagine him standing there, in the dark corner, staring at the wall opposite. He couldn't imagine what Hannibal was actually seeing in his mind instead of the wall, though. 

"How are--I mean, you sound like they're treating you well." Even to his own ears, he sounded like an uncertain twelve year old girl calling her classroom crush. "Hannibal…"

"As well as can be expected. Alana is being quite cooperative, in her own way. I suspect she's making certain that I know she's in charge, but is wary of upsetting the monster." 

_I'm sorry_ wanted to spill out of his mouth, but Will refused to let it. He knew it wouldn't be appreciated. Instead, "It's good to hear your voice. I didn't realize how much I was going to miss it." Unspoken? _How much I was going to miss you._

"You sound nervous, Will." 

Hannibal was giving him nothing. He might have deserved that, though. "I am."

"I know why you called." But he didn't elaborate. 

"Really? So tell me, because I don't know." That was true, as far as it had gone. He'd just called. Almost on a whim. To prove that he could. He hadn't decided what he was going to say, or how he was going to say it, nor was he really prepared to hear Hannibal's voice. 

"You called because you needed to hear my voice. Because something has happened today that you wanted to talk about, but you can't bring yourself to do it. So you call me, because you know that I am the one who will not say no to you. So what has dear old Jack have you doing now, that you call me?" 

"No, it's not about Jack. He hasn't had me do anything. I did need to hear your voice." Because even though this was the most awkward conversation he could ever remember having, Hannibal's voice filled him with a kind of security he hadn't known he missed--the security of admitting the darkness instead of hiding it. "I just--I had a dream." 

"Tell me about this dream, Will." 

Taking a deep breath helped fortify himself, and he stared almost unseeingly at the ceiling. "I was in Verger's barn. Before everything, when I had a gun to his head. But instead of telling him you were the one he ought to feed to the pigs, I shot him. I put the gun against his forehead and I pulled the trigger. I could almost feel his brains splattering all over me, and the pigs. God, the pigs were _screaming_ when they ate him."

Hannibal was intrigued. "Of course you did. It is part of your mind's way of processing what happened to you. To both of us. It was Mason who began it, ultimately. What he did to Margot drove her to your doorstep, and what he did to Margot afterwards drove you right towards him. Perfectly healthy, really. But how did it make you feel?"

"I _enjoyed_ it," Will admitted hoarsely, and this was why he'd called. He'd known it all along, but as always, it had taken Hannibal to force him to admit it. But each admission was coming easier. "It felt _good._ After what he took, what he did… it felt _good._ It felt _right._ And I wanted to do it. God help me, Hannibal, I wanted to do it." 

"Yes, you did. And that's quite a good thing that you did. Does it help you now knowing that he is dead?"

"No. Because I wanted to do it." Gritted teeth, and he laid his forearm over his eyes. "I wanted to kill him myself."

"I told you this day would come, Will. That there would come a man so evil that you would not only be glad to kill him, but enjoy it."

"The only thing missing is you. You were supposed to be beside me, Hannibal." And that was as close to an accusation as he could come, because he knew it was his own fault Hannibal wasn't there.

However, Hannibal didn't let it pass. "And whose fault is that, Will?"

"Mine." 

"Yes." But his voice softened. "You didn't know you would miss me, did you?"

"No. I thought it would be better. Easier. It's just… is."

"What do you want?" Hannibal deliberately kept his voice soft, silky, and cajoling. He knew why Will was really calling. He might not yet be ready to suggest an elopement--escape, that is--but the fact that Will was reaching out at all spoke volumes. "What do you really want, Will? What are you thinking about right now, all alone in that cheap hotel room?" When Will didn't answer him, he pushed again. "Close your eyes, look, and tell me what you see."

Will did exactly as he was told; he closed his eyes, and dropped his arm by his side. What he saw was, "Your hands," he said softly. "On the back of my neck, pulling me close. Then sliding over to touch my face. Your forehead rests on mine, and your eyes are closed." 

Hannibal's eyes were closed, and he let his imagination paint the picture Will was describing. "That isn't all that I'm doing," he said with certainty. 

"No." Will's voice shuddered briefly. "I can feel you… touching me. Your hand rests over my heart, squeezes my shoulder. My eyes are still closed, and when you speak, I can feel your breath on my face." 

"Open your eyes, Will," Hannibal murmurs, knowing that's exactly what he is saying in Will's mind.

To hear Hannibal's voice on the phone repeating what he was saying in Will's mind was a surprise, and he couldn't help opening his eyes. Instead of the ceiling, though, all he could see was Hannibal, leaning over him, close enough to reach out and touch. "Oh, God." 

On the other end of the phone, Hannibal's lips curled into a small smile. "Not quite." 

Another echo, and Will gave a breathy laugh. "You're too good at this," he answered shakily. 

"Don't stop now, Will. There's no time to be shy." He knew that wouldn't be the words, but Will needed the encouragement. Though hopefully, not for much longer. 

That wasn't what Will wanted to hear, and he gave a tiny shake of his head. "You're saying that…"

"This isn't wrong," Hannibal murmured. "Just tell me."

"You're telling me that you want inside of me," Will rushed out. "Not just in my mind, but everywhere." 

"That is true," he admitted. "I have wanted inside of you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. I have always known that you belong to me." 

"H-Hannibal, please." Will bit his lip, aching all over for a touch that couldn't come.

"Yes, as long as you tell me." Hannibal gave his permission; he knew what Will wanted. What he needed. And what he would give as soon as he could. 

"Thank you," was breathed into the phone, and he couldn't have muffled the soft moan if he'd wanted to. "It's your hands, Hannibal, I can't stop thinking about your hands. Touching me, all over. Popping the buttons on my shirt, one by one. So careful, so precise. I'm not, not nearly that calm. Did I ever tell you those buttons on your jacket drive me crazy? Every time you move to do something, lean over, sit down, you pop it open and it's like you're undressing just for me. Rolling up your sleeves in the kitchen, showing your arms like that? Do you mean to do it, or is it just… you?" 

"Perhaps a little bit of both," Hannibal admitted. "But now is not the time to discuss my wardrobe choices, is it?"

"No, because I want you out of it. Out of all of it, every layer. You always make me feel naked in front of you, and I want to see you naked as me." 

"So we're both naked together? Nothing between us?" Hannibal asked, interested in the answer more than the action. 

"Yes, so I can see all of you, like you've seen all of me. Scars and all." Will's hands pulled at his belt and unbuckled it as he listened to Hannibal's almost-husky laugh. 

"We've given each other a few of those, haven't we?" Hannibal was making a mental list of each one, because if Will didn't pay them any attention, he certainly was. 

"Yeah, we have." Will's fingertips brushed over the one on his stomach, and the muscles jumped under the delicate touch. 

"You have to tell me, remember?" Hannibal could hear the hissed intake of breath, and demanded to know everything.

"The scar on my stomach, I touched it and I felt the muscles twitch, like it's reaching for more." He dragged his fingertips over it again, then down over his navel and his unbuckled belt. "I didn't know it could feel like that." 

"More things could feel like that if you let them," Hannibal pointed out. "Don't close yourself of to anything because you think it isn't good, or right." 

Will was hesitant, almost embarrassed, because he knew as soon as he touched himself again, Hannibal was going to demand an explanation. And it wasn't going to be a long one by any means. "I think if you say one more word, there's not going to be any way for me to explain why I've got to be scrubbing the ceiling in this motel." He tried to distract himself from the next step.

Oh, that made Hannibal laugh, and the laughter sent shivers down Will's spine. So much for distraction. "Will, don't be afraid to be coarse. We are all as coarse or as proper as we want to be, and I believe this is the situation that calls for coarse." 

"You have to promise not to eat me." That was the closest to flirtation he'd ever verbally gotten with Hannibal.

"You know I cannot promise that, Will, but I do promise to only eat you in ways that you will enjoy." 

Will shuddered again at the implications of that, and didn't dare to close his eyes again. Because the picture that painted on the back of his eyelids was better contemplated alone. "Hannibal," he said warningly.

"Shall I tell you, then, what you are so ashamed of saying? You are touching yourself now, your hand wrapped around your cock. And you are stroking, slowly, because you do not want me to know what you are doing. You know I know, however. You're imagining my voice in your ear because I am leaning over you, pressing you down, and you're welcoming it. You're enjoying it, asking me for more because you know that I can give you… everything." His tongue snaked out and licked his lips. 

Will's head thudded back against the pillows with a loud groan. He could almost taste Hannibal's breath against his lips, could easily imagine the feel of Hannibal's hand stroking instead of his own. He couldn't say a word, his voice choked off by the grunts and groans of his body's hunger and his own imagination. 

Hannibal rested his head against the clear Plexiglass window of his cell, and envisioned Will. In Hannibal's house, in his bedroom, on sheets that Alana Bloom had never touched. Pale skin on pale silk, wrinkled into knots where Will's fingers dug into the mattress as his back arched. He ghosted a breath across the phone's speaker, and Will's guttural gasp told him all he needed to know. 

"Come for me, Will," Hannibal whispered softly. "Come for both of us." 

The wordless cry that burst out of Will's chest at the same time his orgasm did was as beautiful as a symphony. So were the breathless pants on the other end as he tried to breathe normally, tried to pull the pieces of himself back together from the explosive moment that had just passed. 

"Do you feel better?" Hannibal asked, knowing the answer even as he asked.

"Yes, I do." Will's voice was so much more relaxed than before, and he looked at the door of the motel room as if he expected Hannibal to walk through it. 

Then the next question bowled him over, and he was glad to still be lying down. "Would you like to do that again?"

He could barely admit it to himself that he'd wanted it this time. "Yes." Without a doubt, yes. 

"Then be aware; when I get out of here, and I will get out of here, I am coming for you, Will." Hannibal hung up the phone, and placed it carefully back in the drawer before heading back to his drawing table. He pushed the half-finished pages aside to finish later, and began a new portrait almost immediately. 

Will looked at the cell phone in his hand like it was a snake; he hadn't expected the promise or the abrupt cut-off. But the words were sending hot spikes down his back and into his blood; Hannibal would eventually escape, that Will knew without question. 

The real question was, was he going to escape alone?

\--End


End file.
